


Constriction

by paintstroke



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Corsetry, Love, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Smut, VictUuri, bottom!yuuri, top!victor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 04:46:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9702845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintstroke/pseuds/paintstroke
Summary: I still suck at summaries - maybe that's because there's very little plot to be found here. You've been warned. ;)Yuuri hadn’t been sure why Viktor had circled one of his costume ideas immediately and then dropped the topic completely, refusing to talk about it for the next week. Not until they had gotten this package in the mail. Viktor had let Yuuri open it, watching intently as Yuuri’s fingers caressed the contrasting panels of the corset. Black leather framed the sides, a deep blue material under black lace marked the front and back.  The satiny ties seemed impossibly long. It was too structured to skate in, but Viktor apparently didn’t have skating in mind...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day all! Not that this is a Valentine-sy fic, per se, but... well... what day isn't improved by a little Victuuri smut? :)

Viktor is wrapped around the younger man like a pale shadow, his chest against Yuuri’s back, arms outstretched and bracketing Yuuri’s. He presses Yuuri’s hands into the bedpost with suggestive force. “Hold on,” he whispers, accent thicker than usual with arousal as he rests his chin briefly on Yuuri’s shoulder. 

Yuuri turns slightly towards that voice. Viktor’s cheek is an elusive stroke of heat against his own as the other man steps back. Viktor’s hands slide down across the back of Yuuri’s arms, making Yuuri shiver and squirm back against the figure at his back, but obediently, he doesn’t let go of the bedpost. Yuuri catches the look of anticipation darkening Viktor’s turquoise eyes before Viktor disappears behind him. It’s enough to make the bottom of his stomach drop out, sending him careening into dangerous depths of excitement. The expectation of what’s coming is a delicious promise.

Yuuri's hands tense around the dark wood. He’s already breathing so hard. Viktor’s hands haven’t left Yuuri’s body, they just travel lower. His fingertips graze almost too lightly to feel through the material around Yuuri’s waist.

* * *

_Yuuri hadn’t been sure why Viktor had circled one of his costume ideas immediately and then dropped the topic completely, refusing to talk about it for the next week. Not until they had gotten this package in the mail. Viktor had let Yuuri open it, watching intently as Yuuri’s fingers caressed the contrasting panels of the corset. Black leather framed the sides, a deep blue material under black lace marked the front and back. The satiny ties seemed impossibly long. It was too structured to skate in, but Viktor apparently didn’t have skating in mind..._

* * *

Yuuri stares ahead, past the bed frame, trying to focus on one of the hanging light bulbs arrayed above the massive bed. Coils of metal gave off a dim, intimate glow, the looping filaments throwing thousands of amber glimmers against their cool glass encasements. They were a poor distraction. He’s trying so hard to keep calm when his skin feels vibrant, expansive, hotter than the molten glow of the lights his poor vision is turning into spiky amber halos. 

The whisper of the satiny ribbon through metal grommets tickles at his ears, and Yuuri tenses, his breath shaking as he pulls air in with quivering muscles. A heartbeat later the first lacing pulls taut around his lower ribs. 

Yuuri forcefully pushes his breath out, trying for steadiness. He shouldn’t be affected this much. Not yet. He already knows he’ll be absolutely wrecked by the end but he has to hang on to some sort of control. Just for now. At least for now. 

The gentle brush of fingertips, dulled and blunted by the leather between them and his back, chase his breath away even before the laces are pulled again. 

Lower. _Lower._

Each time the solid pull gives way to a gentle release, the following draw is stronger. The give lessens as more of the laces hold the leather of the corset snugly into his sides.

The sensations edge slowly down his spine, slowly –always so slowly– since the lacing is so close together. The tightness follows; not _quite_ a restraint but a constant, insistent embrace. There’s this suffusing sense of warmth and security that follows. 

“What are you thinking about?” Viktor’s soft question curls at his mind. His hands continue to move. 

Yuuri pauses. Any words he can bring to mind are pale compared to the sensations he’s drowning in. But, for Viktor he tries. 

Because it’s like those mornings etched into his brain in fiery lines, when Viktor slips gracefully to his knees in a vast, chilly arena. There’s the overwhelming _intimacy_ of Viktor lacing his skates, which calls to an awareness of family, of memories of childhood, and the sense of a trusting closeness being deliberately chosen. When Yuuri’s covered blade is trapped snugly between Viktor’s legs, the sole of his skate cradled firmly against Viktor's thighs. The push of his foot against Viktor’s body countering the pull of Viktor’s hands on the laces around his ankles. The sense that the only warmth in that cold morning arena could be felt through the bottom of his foot. And on the other hand, there’s _Viktor on his knees in front of him_ – so sensual, sexual, so promising. He’s reminded of moments that he absolutely treasures, the heartbeats when Viktor’s kisses are pressed into Yuuri’s legs in an abandoned rink, the expanse of empty, echoing space around them isolating them from the world outside.

So many overlapping, fractured emotions come along with the thoughts, with Viktor’s touches in the moment. The unbelievability of everything is now constant thread running through his life. 

“Skating,” Yuuri chokes out, the easiest of a thousand things he can’t quite put into words. 

VIktor hums an easy acceptance of the answer.

Yuuri’s not sure if anything beyond the superficial gets through, not sure if he still has the presence of mind anymore to try. He swallows hard, fighting against his dry mouth, his traitorous throat shattering words before they can escape. 

Even when stated so simply, his answer still rings true, because there’s something here in this room, in Viktor’s hands, that sings in the same rhythm. There’s the same gentle care, the tight encasement skimming over curves. Oh, it’s over different body areas to be sure, but support is still being woven around him. But here, it won’t lead to perfectly controlled movements, carefully choreographed and on display. Here it will free him, with no need for self-control, for thoughts, and no space for judgement or for an audience. 

He’s shaken from his wandering musings by Viktor's breath hot against his cool skin, the other man starting to pepper his shoulders with open-mouthed kisses as his hands pause. Those elegant fingers travel forward, skimming across his sides. They trace the length of Yuuri’s arousal through the thin, dark underwear, as Viktor questions further, seeing what else he can draw from Yuuri’s tangled mind. “Maybe not _just_ skates. What else?” 

Viktor’s hands feel so good, even with the soft fabric between them. Maybe especially with the fabric between them, making it more of a tease. He loved and hated that feeling of being held back. 

“...and you… on your knees…” Yuuri admits, the words blunted and mumbled into his hands. From the hitch of breath behind him, Viktor had heard though. 

He hadn’t expected the admission to feel this overwhelming. Yuuri lets his hips edge backwards, trying to press into Viktor behind him. 

“Easy…” Viktor hushes him, and the hands leave his arousal, instead one pushes firmly against his lower back. 

Yuuri gives a ragged moan, wanting Viktor’s hands back _on_ him. 

The ends of the silky ties caress against the hot, lonely skin of his lower back, ghosting too lightly over the material of his briefs to feel, but tickling against his thighs. “Trust me…” Viktor croons. 

“Always.” Yuuri shuts his eyes, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against his hands. He’s not sure how much more of this he can stand. “But hurry…” he whispers, the ragged breath he draws turning it into a desperate plea. 

Viktor's chuckle is low and sensual. “Never,” he promises, drawing the word out into a wicked burr. 

Yuuri moans, frustrated but flushed with pleasure all at once. He tries to lose himself in the rhythm of Viktor's hands, in the reassurance of the tightness extending across his midsection. It couldn’t be much longer.

But those seconds drag on for a lifetime. 

“Done,” Viktor’s voice is rough, rougher than Yuuri thinks it should be. His hands don’t move off of Yuuri’s hips. They’ve settled just below the corset, claiming territory on ridges of bone and muscle below the leather, on the band of bare skin just above the briefs that Yuuri’s arousal is currently straining underneath. 

Yuuri bites back a whimper when the touch leaves his sides. 

Viktor sits on the foot of the bed. “Come here,” he strokes his lap invitingly, his own excitement not hidden in the slightest by the soft leggings he favours. 

Yuuri bites his lip, unsure of leaving his grip on the bedpost. He’s not sure how steady he feels. But he wants to be close to Viktor again. Yuuri cautiously takes the few steps over, closing the distance. He can’t help it though. He glances back at the full length mirror that was now leaning against the wall of their bedroom.

When Yuuri looks over his shoulder, the sight of the bow, of all things, pulls his lips into a small smile. 

He approaches, meaning to straddle Viktor, but is spun around so that he faces the mirror instead. Viktor’s hands are encouraging; demanding and unyielding against his skin as he pulls Yuuri back down into his lap.

_Oh._ This _would_ be Viktor’s plan. 

Viktor’s hands are pale against the dark leather and fabric, and Yuuri is fascinated at the contrast, watching in the mirror. It’s surreal. It’s incredible. 

Viktor pulls his hips up and back, stroking his hands down Yuuri’s thighs as he pushes them apart. In the end Yuuri’s sitting splayed out over Viktor’s lap, Viktor’s knees pushing his own further apart. Viktor’s chest is the only thing keeping him upright as he curls back into it, craving the touch. 

Viktor leans backwards, searching for lube. The click and wet sounds as he warms it on his hands. Yuuri hooks his hands into his underwear.

Viktor’s already lost to language, just sort of giving a hint of a growl as he bats Yuuri’s hands away, slipping his hand up Yuuri’s leg and underneath the fabric of his underwear, half pushing it away and half ignoring it. 

Yuuri gasps. He spreads his legs wider.

He hears Viktor’s smile - realizes he can almost make it out in the mirror too, a brighter flash in his shadowed features. 

Viktor separating his own legs forces Yuuri’s still further apart. Yuuri’s grateful for his flexibility. 

Then Viktor’s finger is _inside_ him and there is no room for any other thoughts. He gasps again as it enters, pushing relentlessly past his muscles, the lube making it impossible to resist. 

When he tries to arch backwards the corset holds him. It’s like a solid pair of hands, but Viktor’s hands are either in him or gripping his thigh so tightly, and the corset’s dark material just limits his movements enough that he’s hyper aware of it. 

And of Viktor.

Yuuri doesn’t have much leverage in this position, but he can still rock back against Viktor, encouraging the hand inside him to move. Quicker. 

Viktor goes still, letting Yuuri rut against his unmoving hand. “You look so beautiful like this…” Viktor whispers, nuzzling into the back of Yuuri’s neck. Yuuri’s eyes flash open, meeting Viktor’s in the mirror. 

He immediately stops moving, even in the dim light he can see his blush increase. This is so embarrassing. 

“Keep moving for me, pryanychek…” Viktor whispers against his shoulder. 

It’s a long few moments where both men are still; a battle between desire and embarrassment. Yuuri lets his eyes close again so he doesn’t have to see what he’s doing. He feels so awkward, so uncoordinated. There’s a heat in his face, burning at the edges of his ears and he can’t _believe_ what he’s doing. 

The heat from his cheeks creeps down over his neck, his chest.

“Viktor?” he asks, uncertain. Viktor hasn’t moved. 

Lips press into the side of his neck, the delicate brush of humid skin a promise or a tease. “Yes?” Viktor lilts.

A tease then. Definitely a tease. Yuuri breathes for a moment, rocking back again slightly, then pulling forward. Viktor still isn’t moving. 

Yuuri lets his head fall back onto Viktor’s shoulder. ”Move,“ Yuuri pleads, a bit distraught at the pause. 

He _feels_ a silent laugh catch in Viktor’s throat. “If I do, you have to watch…” 

Yuuri moaned, refusing to open his eyes. He doesn’t want to see himself like this. “I can’t see anything anyway…” he mutters a reminder. He’s impatient, _teased,_ horny as sin. He wants Viktor to just drop the idea and get on with it, he wants to lose himself in what was promised. 

Viktor shifts behind him, not waiting a moment after that cue. Half a second later his glasses are tapped gently against the back of Yuuri’s hand. Yuuri moves his other hand to lock an iron grip on Viktor’s thigh. Perched precariously on Viktor’s own quads, he reluctantly unfolds his glasses and puts them on, deciding that it’s easier to just give in than it is to change Viktor’s mind. Arguing is not what he wants to be doing right now. 

It doesn’t hurt that the sense of embarrassment is starting to become a decided turn on for him. He’s actually _harder_ thinking about what Viktor wants him to do. 

Thankfully, Viktor seems to be in the mood to compromise too. Viktor’s moving again. He adds a second finger and Yuuri can’t help it. The corset keeps him from completely collapsing against Viktor, but he throws his head back, heavily dropping onto Viktor for support as he pants his way through to acceptance of the stretch. His breathing steadies slowly, and he slowly curls his head back up. The optics of the room might be clearer now, but he still feels like he’s floating, like the edges are fuzzy. 

But _oh_ , their reflections in the mirror are sharper now. Viktor’s glacier-blue eyes are fixated on him through the mirror in front of them. Yuuri can watch his own breathing steady, although there’s a strangled moan at seeing himself so clearly _like this_. 

The third finger shatters his breaths into moans. 

Yuuri is coming undone. He whines and freezes, breathing in little gasps. “Hai…” he whispers. He struggles to keep his eyes open, but his eyelashes kiss his cheeks with brief flutters. He can't help himself and starts squirming against the too-slow movements. “More,” he pleads. 

Viktor grabs Yuuri’s legs, pulls them up to his chest, finally pulls the underwear off - up, then down, narrowly avoiding snagging the fabric on outstretched toes. He lifts them both for a moment, pushing his own drawstring leggings down to just below the swell of his ass. 

He locks Yuuri’s legs against his chest with one solid arm, pinning the dark-haired skater nearly in two. There's an unfairness in how experienced Viktor is, and Yuuri whines while he's held in place, those elegant fingers of Viktor curling unerringly into pure pleasure. With one hand, Viktor manages to reclaim the lube bottle, messily tilting it to spill into his palm. Viktor meets his eyes in the mirror again, his free hand moving in steady, purposeful movements over his swollen length. Holding himself up is pretty much the only thing Yuuri can do at this moment. Viktor’s fingers slide from his body and Yuuri curls his toes, letting Viktor rearrange them slightly again, preparing for what he’s going to do next. Without Viktor holding him into a curl, Yuuri’s legs collapse loosely out around Viktor’s again. 

He can’t seem to look away as Viktor looks down, lining himself up. 

With his heels, Yuuri desperately finds footholds on the bed so that he can help lower himself around Viktor’s cock as Viktor leans back onto his elbows, making space for him to move. He hates this idea of Viktor’s passionately for a moment, as his thoughts slip towards himself and how undignified he looks at this moment, how awkward and unsexy he is…

Until he sees Viktor’s face at the moment when he’d usually have shut his eyes against the sensation of Viktor’s cock pushing inside of him. 

With that that moment, suddenly, any harsh self critiques are gone. 

Because if he can watch this, the way Viktor’s eyebrows flutter together over eyes closed in concentration, the pink of his lips as he bits at the flesh, the tiny quivers across his face that speak volumes about what he’s feeling… 

Yuuri stops his descent. 

Viktor’s eyes slit open again, dark and desirous. Yuuri watches and smiles, continuing. 

Viktor gives a soft, almost ironic grin - too much of their history has danced around the idea of him watching Yuuri for him not to catch that. Viktor peels himself up off his elbows, raising from the bed, arms wrapping around Yuuri, holding him tightly against his chest. 

Yuuri oscillates between watching the mirror and closing his eyes to just _feel_ the pleasure. Viktor rocks gently up into him, moving constantly in the short strokes their position allows. 

It feels amazing. Every short stroke presses into him in the most delicious way, the friction snapping any hold on sanity, on embarrassment, that he might still be holding onto. 

Yuuri’s hands fist into the bed on either side of Viktor’s hips. Viktor’s own fingers become marble vices under his knees, holding his legs up, open. Yuuri’s toes touch the inside of Viktor’s knees, his own knees falling outwards in a pale, outstretched diamond. Viktor’s hands leave him like that, drawing hot lines over skin and leather and lace. Yuuri draws his gaze up, it feels heavy and almost too powerful to see them like this. But he dares to look up, and Viktor seems almost drunk on the moment, his movements lazy and sexy and slow. 

The evening’s been to much to stay slow and careful and soft. Yuuri _writhes,_ wanting more, bucking back against Viktor. Viktor catches his hands, fingers slipping between his own, and Yuuri clutches desperately into them, using them as an anchor. Viktor holds them by Yuuri’s chest as he curls upwards again, pressing them together.

Kisses against Yuuri’s shoulder give way to teeth, hard and blunt, scraping into overheating skin. Yuuri _mewls_ when Viktor adds a bit more pressure. Yuuri’s legs stutter bonelessly off the bed, and he lets himself sprawl obscenely over Viktor, uncaring, lost to the passionate rhythm as Viktor speeds up. 

His hands spasm against Viktors’. “Touch me,” he pleads, embarrassed to ask, embarrassed to be needing more.

Viktor groans into Yuuri’s shoulder, eyes piercing through him in the mirror. His rhythm stumbles as he reaches down, his other hand gripping tighter as if to make up for the imbalance.. Yuuri watches, fascinated, while Viktor’s fingers close one by one over his straining length. But the feeling _\- oh that feeling -_ is so much better than watching it. 

He struggles to get purchase on the bed, finding some reserve of strength from the desperate desire to push up into Viktor’s slowly stroking hand, impaling himself deeper on Viktor’s cock as he draws back.

Viktor’s wrist twists, lazy and unhurried, every stroke drawing heavy, pulsing coils closer together at the base of Yuuri’s spine. 

Yuuri’s not sure how any blood remains in his face, but he’s still blushing while he watches Viktor’s paler hand move over him in the mirror. 

Surreal. 

He wants to watch. He wants to watch so badly, because the sight of Viktor getting him off is one that he never thought he’d experience. But watching his own body thrust back and forth between Viktor’s dick - oh god - and Viktor’s hand was… just like that… 

Too much.

“I’m… ah-” Yuuri pants, the words breaking against teeth clenched in pleasure. “-gonna… ah- yes… oh yes-”

It’s too much, and he throws his head back over Viktor’s shoulder, unable to keep watching. Unwilling to see this final humiliation.

Viktor’s hands turn gentle as he comes, smoothing over Yuuri’s hair as he shakes and twitches his way back to reality. Viktor’s fingers lock over his corset for a moment, lifting him slightly as Viktor changes pace, thrusting in short and sharply.

Yuuri’s hypersensitive. Every movement feels _more_. His hands spasm into Viktor’s thighs, and he raises his heavy head and half-lidded eyes to watch Viktor in the mirror.

Viktor is close too. Yuuri’s slowly getting used to seeing it from a different angle. But here he can watch, the mirror granting him some distance, even as his body provides a doubling effect from _feeling_ the movements at the same time. Here he can watch the blush rise over Viktor’s cheekbones, see the way his silvery hair gets caught in the sweat of his forehead. He can watch _–he can feel–_ the shaking of Viktor’s hands before they grip into his sides. _He can feel the way Viktor’s thighs tense._ He sees Viktor’s own eyes tremble shut. And yes, oh god, yes, he can feel the way that Viktor’s body goes rigid behind him the moment before he’s aware of his cock pulsing deeply inside him. 

They stay frozen like that a moment, both panting. Their breaths are the only sounds in the dimly lit room. 

It’s a long moment or two before Viktor wraps Yuuri in his long arms and with a groan, pulls them both backwards onto the bed. They stay connected for a moment, before Viktor worms against the sheets, pulling them both further up on the bed.

Yuuri flushes hot at the sensation of wetness between his legs. He can't help an unhappy noise at the loss of Viktor’s presence. But Viktor’s lips are soft against his own, gently and thoroughly distracting him as he’s pulled to face his lover. 

Viktor’s thumbs are pushing pleasure into his shoulders. He relaxes slowly into the massage.

Viktor’s hands rove lower, picking at the ends of the satiny ties. His voice is content, languid. “If you put anything like this in your costume design it will kill me.”

Yuuri smiles. There’s a wicked part of him that wants to, just because of that.

Viktor laughs lightly at his expression and leans forward to kiss him again. “You’re too much, pryanychek. You know I would pass every _petite mort_ on to you, though…”

-Fin-

**Author's Note:**

> pryanychek - pretty sure if you've been reading Victuuri fics, you know this is a Russian nickname, sweet/spicy gingerbread  
> petite mort - french for little death / orgasms
> 
> My crappy tumblr is [here](http://her-paintstrokes.tumblr.com/) if you ever want to chat, request, or yell about cute things. :)


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